Open
by Fearthainn
Summary: War changes everything.


I wrote this for Beccafran's Alphabet Challenge. She also betaed it for me, because she rocks with socks. :)

**Open**

Ginny scraped a strand of muddy hair off her cheek and stared through the damp grass at the house. It was a low, unprepossessing shack, weathered grey wood spotted with moss, its window mostly broken, door hanging ajar, the light of the setting sun painting it a dull reddish gold.

According to the map in her pocket, this was a safe house, but it didn't look very safe from where she lay flat out in a hollow full of weeds, 50 yards away. Dew was seeping through her robes, but even that discomfort wasn't enough to override her native caution. She lowered her head, eyes closing in concentration as she murmured a detecting spell and cast its delicate thread of magic toward the house.

Nothing happened.

Ginny raised herself up on her elbows, then to her feet. She moved closer to the open door, one careful step at a time. The dark interior of the shack seeming to fall deeper into shadow as she did so, but she knew that was only to be expected—safe houses were meant to seem unwelcoming until you got into them.

She made it across the clearing without event, and stepped cautiously through the door. As she did so, the air shimmered, and the empty room transformed itself before her eyes. Bare floors were covered with thick carpets, piles of rubbish in the corners became cozy armchairs, and the cracked brick of the fireplace repaired itself, a fire blazing to life on the hearth. A small glass lamp burned on the small dining table, and by its light a dark familiar figure was scratching out a letter.

"Hullo," Ginny said, and the figure jumped, spectacles flashing in the dim light.

"Oh," said Harry Potter. "It's you." He relaxed slightly, letting his wand hand drop back to the table. Ginny hadn't even seen him pull his wand; he'd always been the best. She put her own wand away and came in, shutting the magically restored door behind her. She wondered briefly if the illusion on the outside had edited in a well-placed wind gust, to bang the door shut.

"Sorry to disturb you," she said, pulling her cloak off and hanging it beside Harry's on the hook beside the door. "Didn't think anyone would be here."

"There wouldn't have been, but I got sidetracked outside of Stafford and ended up here. Was meant to have been on my way to London, but I figured I might as well spend the night here to be fresh for the road tomorrow." He flashed her a sudden, crooked smile as she moved to the table, and leaned back, one long arm reaching for a mug from the counter behind him. "There's tea on, if you want some."

"That'd be grand." Close to, Ginny could see a red welt across his right cheekbone, turning faintly purple, and a deep scratch running down the side of his neck, into the collar of his shirt. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his hair was, as always, a mess. But his hands were steady as he poured her tea, and his expression was clear as he looked at her. She took the mug gratefully and wrapped her hands around it, sipping the hot liquid. "Oh, this is just the thing."

They spent several minutes just sitting in companionable silence, Ginny letting the warmth of the tea seep into her bones, Harry bending his head back to his papers, writing out reports in his messy scrawl. Eventually she felt able to move, and relocated to one of the wing chairs in front of the fire. After another few minutes of writing, Harry laid aside his quill and came to join her. He offered a friendly smile, and Ginny returned it; they'd always been friendly, and she was thankful for it. She had briefly wished for more, once at Hogwarts, and once afterward, during the wild first days of her Auror training, but nothing had come of it and eventually she had let her second crush on this thin, wild-haired boy go.

"Did you run into anything unusual?" he asked as he sat down in the other chair.

Ginny sighed and rubbed at her eyes. "Death Eaters at the house in Kettering. Group of five. The house was destroyed, but no one was in it, thank Merlin. I watched for a while, then decided to come here, instead."

"You didn't take them on by yourself, did you?" he asked in alarm.

Ginny raised one eyebrow at him and said, "I went around."

"Smart move."

"Well, there were five of them and only one of me. I like living too much to give up on it that easily."

"Well…good." Harry met her eyes and smiled. "I like you living, too."

They ate a meager dinner and retired back to the wing chairs after they'd done, Ginny setting the dishes to soak with a casual flick of her wand. The night was cool, so Harry lit a fire in the grate, which cast flickering, golden light over the small room. They talked in fits and starts, about the war, about Ginny's family, about her latest assignment. Harry's were classified, of course, so he couldn't mention them, but he told her one or two harrowing stories about past incidents.

After the last of these, they both sank into silence again; a cozy, relaxing silence that seemed to fill up the empty spaces in her and smooth them out. It was a rare, peaceful thing, and Ginny let her eyes drift closed.

"I'm scared," Harry said suddenly disrupting the quiet. "Not—not of dying exactly, but of failing. Worse, failing and living through it, to see my friends injured or dead, our side fallen and knowing that if I'd done what I'm meant to do, none of it would have happened. I can't let it go. I try, and it just comes back, over and over." He shifted, as if embarrassed, the firelight blinking off his glasses. "I…um. I have nightmares. Just in case, tonight—so you know."

Ginny leaned across the small space between the chairs to clasp his hand. "I think we're all scared," she said, and tightened her grip when he flinched. "Not of you failing…I don't think you will. I don't think it's in you to fail, Harry. But of the war. Of dying. Of failing ourselves, and like you said, having to live with it after. I'm scared of that too."

Harry nodded, his face in shadow, but he didn't seem reassured. She bent forward, reaching out to take his other hand in hers, until she was nearly out of her chair. "Harry," she said, and waited until he met her eyes. "I'm not afraid that you'll fail. I trust you."

"Why?"

"Because you are who you are. I can't not."

He tugged on her hands, pulling her up out of her chair, onto his lap. Once there, he wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his head in her shoulder. His glasses dug in, but she didn't mind at all.


End file.
